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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387012">I Want What I Want</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Durven/pseuds/L_Durven'>L_Durven</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, One Shot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:55:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25387012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Durven/pseuds/L_Durven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tissaia hasn't seen Yennefer since her ascension, but this year the girl has decided to attend the annual gala that Aretuza puts on. Insufferable.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Want What I Want</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A/N: I wanted to try something different (the smut part isn't different - HA), so I took a quick detour from Won't Ever Let You Go. BUT I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN IT, PROMISE! It's just a dismal and rainy Sunday afternoon here and I wanted something short and sweet. Though sweet is debatable, haha.</p><hr/><p><br/>As the centuries of her life drag on, she watches dynasties fall as quickly as they rise. They burn brilliant for a couple of generations, and then the flame is gone and engulfed by something new. The legacies of men – so important that their short lives are consumed by waging pointless, bloody wars – are truly, in the end, <em>worthless</em>. Their history blurs beside the ambitions of a million others. Some are forgotten entirely, others are reduced to nothing but a handful of pages among dusty tomes.</p><p>Court is a place of trivial, childish issues, she has long decided. The grand wellbeing of the continent is far beyond the comprehension of those who will never see a century. And so, she wonders (and not for the first time) why do they even bother getting involved?</p><p>Aretuza is her home and she plans to spend the rest of her days here in the same, quiet routine day in and day out. Oh, she may dabble in the wars of men if they land too close to home, but she has no desire to play with inconsequential kings and queens to make herself feel important. She knows she is. She also knows there is no need to defend herself against those who ridicule Aretuza.</p><p>Her role as Arch-mistress is not difficult, it's true. Time-consuming? Yes. Irritating? Sometimes. But routine is simple to cultivate here. She likes the way that her days are tedious, and predictable, and most importantly: controlled. It has been like that for, well, <em>ever</em>.</p><p>Some of the children can be petulant, but overall they are thankful and studious and pliant. They are afraid, rightfully so, of being on the receiving end of her wrath. Except for one. There has only ever been one able to rouse her temper, and if Tissaia has to hazard a guess, she's fairly certain that she has always done it on purpose.</p><p>The Rectoress tries not to think of her. Not frequently. She tries to forget how the girl would push back at every insult. How she’d lose her temper. How she would take the hard way every. single. time. She tries to forget how contagious her temper was, and how more than once she found herself throwing a decanter across the room: the sound of shattering glass soothing. And for as many times as the girl drove her to lash out, how many times had she hid her pleasure. No, she realizes, she still hides a smile at the headaches she gives to others. She laughs, in the solitude of her chambers, when she hears how others fare while trying to control her.</p><p>She reminisces how she grew from <em>nothing</em>. How she cared so deeply about what the Rectoress thought, until finally she was able to guard her thoughts. She applauds the girl, for now she very obviously does not give two shits about anyone other than herself. Tissaia sighs. She thinks of her far too often. She feels far too much pride. Far too much frustration. And then she savours it, and dwells on things that will never be.</p><p>It is with great dismay (and surprise) that her musings come to a screeching halt when she opens her office door. Yennefer of Vengerberg is sitting at her desk, as if she has been summoned from her very thoughts.</p><p>Would it kill her to sit in the seat that she reserves for guests? <em>Likely</em>.</p><p>The sorceress is reclined in Tissaia’s chair, leaning back on two rear legs. Her arms stretch and fold behind her head. Her feet, which rest against the lip of her desk, rock her back and forth.</p><p>
  <em>Why?</em>
</p><p>The question to herself sounds exasperated, she realizes, and she feels every part of her being react to the intruder. The rocking stops and the two front legs come slamming down onto the floor. Despite this, she is still graceful in her movements. <em>There it is</em>. Yennefer’s telltale smirk. Tissaia simply raises an eyebrow to convey her displeasure.</p><p>“Hello, Yennefer. What has made you decide to accompany your king this year, when you have avoided Aretuza for decades? I didn't think he would be coming since Medell will be present. It may make for an awkward evening.”</p><p>“Oh, he will skirmish with that man until he dies. And who am I to stop him? As for the ball, well I did not feel like spending another evening listening to blacksmith hammers and war preparations.” Yennefer stands and makes her way around the desk. “I came to see my favourite Rectoress. I realized the other day that I never actually said goodbye after ascending.” Tissaia forces her breath not to hitch as she narrows her eyes. Yennefer would <em>hardly</em> care about something so trivial years later.</p><p>“Curious. But you were never one to snivel at my skirts, so I hardly expected you to look back. Why are you here?”</p><p>“I wanted to make sure you were coming.” The question strikes her as odd, and she knows her expression has betrayed her. Yennefer studies her with something that Tissaia hasn’t quite been able to place – or perhaps does not wish to. It is borderline predatory. Yennefer says nothing more, but as she passes the Arch-mistress, she purposely brushes shoulders with her.</p><p>“If you still have that burgundy dress you wore during my ascension, I would have you wear that.” Tissaia does not allow herself to react visibly, but she feels her chest constrict and her throat go dry.</p><p>“I will wear whatever I deem appropriate, Yennefer.” The only response is a blown kiss and a wave, before she disappears through the door and down the hall.</p><hr/><p>She ends up wearing the dress. It hugs her curves and compliments her complexion. It is one of her favourites, she tells herself, and only because of that is she wearing it. Not because Yennefer told her to.</p><p>She grabs a glass from a passing server and sips the wine. It is stronger than the mead or champagne flutes going around. A warmth flutters and settles in her belly, and she feels herself relax a little. She thought she was over this, but it seems that Yennefer can get a rise from her even now.</p><p>“You did a wonderful job with her.” The words pull Tissaia from her own thoughts, and she realizes she hasn’t heard a word that her comrades have been speaking. But now she follows Vanielle’s gaze to the entranceway.</p><p>King Virfuril has entered, his Queen and his boy (now a young man) not far behind. Their sorceress is on the prince's arm, poised so that it is clear that though they have entered together, she belongs to no one. When they reach the bottom of the steps, the prince bows deeply, kisses her hand and releases her.</p><p>Her gown is stunning. It is a mixture of black and silver, and it shimmers whichever way she turns. The cut dips down beneath her cleavage, and it looks to be made of a dozen different pieces tied together. There is promise woven in the many layers that twist about and leave an expanse of skin for eyes to travel on. And though the slit of it climbs up along her thigh, it's not distasteful. Just borderline scandalous.</p><p>As Tissaia’s eyes take in her entire form, she realizes that Yennefer’s skin is smooth and even and sun-kissed <em>everywhere. </em>There is only one way that she can be that evenly tanned, and the image of her parading around naked rises, unbidden. She has seen Yennefer, but it does things to her now that makes her want to jump into a cold lake.</p><p>Tissaia is not immune to desire, and she doesn’t try to tell herself such. But it’s unusual for her not to be able to conceal it. As violet eyes find her, and a knowing smile plays across her lips, Tissaia swallows thickly and takes another sip of her wine. She knows her eyes follow the girl more than they should. She watches as she dances with her King. She also dances with a couple of nobles, the crown prince, and with Medell. Tissaia watches her cause the uproar, and then just as quickly, smooth things over by dancing with the prince of her own kingdom again. She then dances with her Queen. The whole while her eyes do not leave Tissaia, despite the series of twirls and dips and spins. When the song finishes, the Queen is laughing and holding a hand to her breast. Yennefer, who finally tears her attention from the Rectoress and back to her partner, bows dramatically and takes her leave. Yennefer is very popular, but how can she not be?</p><p>The Arch-mistress can dance, but she refuses to approach the girl because she <em>knows</em>. She knows that Yennefer would not dance with her in a way that would maintain her reputation. No, a dance would be her undoing, and she would not destroy her carefully molded image in a single night. But <em>spirits</em>, the longer she looks at the girl, the more she wants.</p><p>The balcony air is crisp at this hour. Sun has long set. There is the gentle rustle of leaves from a light breeze. She closes her eyes and listens to waves lapping against the stone walls of the citadel. The music and laughter within the grand room is faded, but it is pleasant. She does not miss the footsteps that follow her out, nor the sound of the balcony doors re-closing.</p><p>“What can I do for you, Yennefer?”</p><p>“You wore it,” she answers, and Tissaia can hear the approval in it. It is coy as well, and Tissaia realizes she has trapped herself on a balcony with someone who very clearly wants something from her. Fingers of pleasure creep along her arms and tickles her throat.</p><p>Yennefer hasn’t even touched her yet.</p><p>When she turns, she raises her chin just a fraction and narrows her eyes. She knows that though her face is passive, her eyes are not. Whatever the other woman sees pleases her, because there is a flash of longing before her eyes take in her entire form without a hint of shame. Tissaia does not miss how Yennefer worries her bottom lip. But if she was unsure, it’s already gone when she extends her hand.</p><p>“I’d have at least one dance. You do dance, don’t you?”</p><p>She should return to the gala before she is missed. She should return before she does something she regrets. She has controlled herself for much longer than this. But instead, without a word, her hand slips into Yennefer’s.</p><p>Tissaia allows Yennefer to lead. She has never danced with the girl, but has watched her more than once and has always been impressed. She is a gifted dancer no matter her role. And as Yennefer presses herself against the Rectoress, Tissaia is glad she did not allow herself to indulge in front of prying eyes. Her eyes slip shut and she concentrates on the scent of lilac and gooseberries that fills her nostrils.</p><p>It is a mistake. She <em>wants</em> her, and she knows it, but now it has gone from an ache to an all-consuming need.</p><p>“This is a slippery slope,” Tissaia murmurs quietly, tilting her head. Their faces are inches apart, so there’s no question if the other woman has heard her. “Are you pushing or pulling me down it, I wonder?”</p><p>Yennefer doesn’t say anything, the smirk wiped from her face. She spins them once more until Tissaia’s back hits the wall, and the two of them are concealed within an alcove behind a potted Oleander tree.</p><p>“Deny me, Tissaia,” Yennefer whispers, the breath of the words brushing against her lips. Tissaia does not need to push to read her mind, the thoughts are there in the forefront. Yennefer has always taken what she wants, but the Rectoress has always, <em>always</em> been just out of reach. But now, through Yennefer's eyes, there is a slight quiver to the Rectoress's normally perfect composure and a surge of confidence fills her. Tissaia takes a sharp breath in, and considers chiding Yennefer on thinking too loud, but the way Yennefer’s eyes sparkle... she realizes that she is conveying this intentionally. "I will walk away. But if you want this – then don’t expect me stop it.”</p><p>No, Tissaia will not – cannot – stop. Not now. Her very being sings for the touch of the girl in front of her, and it has for a long time, she realizes. Part of her has always been drawn to her, and the fact that she is no longer her charge makes that desire almost unbearable.</p><p>Yennefer studies her before so very gently touching her forehead and tracing her fingers along the Rectoress’ temple. Her fingers explore Tissaia’s face and grazes down her neck. They travel along a shoulder and down an arm, and when the Rectoress shudders under her ministrations, she can feel the almost drunken exhilaration that radiates from Yennefer.</p><p>Tissaia cannot wait any longer. She reaches up and wraps a hand through Yennefer’s hair, closing the distance. The kiss is tender until they both process what is actually happening, and Yennefer deepens it until it’s almost frantic. Tissaia’s other hand comes up to cup her cheek. When Yennefer pulls away, the two of them are breathless.</p><p>“I have never wanted anyone like I want you. I should have done this twenty-fucking-years ago.”</p><p>Tissaia doesn't say anything, but the aroused sigh as Yennefer nips at her neck says enough. She does not even care if there’s a mark. She can heal it, but she has half a mind to let it sit under her high collar that she will don again tomorrow. A leg snakes around Yennefer and in turn, a knee pushes against her center. Her hands let go of their hold and travel down over Yennefer’s body. They trace all of the patches of skin that have been teasing her all night, and then she slips her hands into the front of her dress.</p><p>Yennefer’s nipples are hard against her thumbs, and her breasts feel so <em>fucking</em> perfect that she half believes they were made for her. Yennefer hisses in pleasure, then kisses Tissaia again with such ferocity that neither one is sure if they will be able to walk back into the ball as if nothing happened.</p><p>She pushes tighter against Tissaia, her entire body almost impossibly close. Her hands twist and grab at her burgundy skirts until they are lifted enough for a hand to slip under. She drags her nails up a thigh and Tissaia’s hips buck involuntarily. She doesn’t say anything, but hums in delight as her fingers find their objective and discover that Tissaia is already wet.</p><p>Tissaia’s entire world is on fire as Yennefer pushes two fingers into her.</p><p>Her hands move to wrap around Yennefer’s shoulders, and her head falls back against the stone. Yennefer tucks her own forehead against Tissaia’s shoulder. Her fingers push as far in as they can go, almost roughly, and her own breath hitches and quickens. As she feels her pleasure mounting, a moan escapes her.</p><p>The sound must be Yennefer’s undoing because she swears and pulls away from Tissaia. The Rectoress is spun around a shoved into a bent-over position. Her hands grip the stone edger of the raised garden and she whimpers as her dress is bunched up and fingers reenter her from behind.</p><p>The thrusts are deeper now, a third finger added, and every time they are fully inside of her, Yennefer curls them and hits a spot that leaves Tissaia quivering and biting back sounds of delight. Her other hand is cupping her breast and playing with a nipple through the fabric.</p><p>“They can’t hear you,” Yennefer says, her voice a bit lower than Tissaia remembers. She answers with a soft keen and tries to hold back still, even though she knows the younger woman is right.</p><p>Yennefer’s hand falls from her breast and snakes around her waist, then rolls her clit with her middle finger. Tissaia nearly screams from the pleasure that rips through her body, and whatever reservation she has left is gone.</p><p>Yennefer is making sounds behind her, likely in response to her own. She knows there are things tumbling from her that can be classified as begging. The whole world could cease and she wouldn’t fucking care. Yennefer curls her fingers one last time and continues to roll circles with her finger, even while Tissaia cries out and comes undone. It’s the most intense orgasm she has ever had, and she knows that for all the times that she has indulged herself with fantasies of the woman who is still inside of her, it will never again be enough. She is ruined.</p><p>Yennefer pulls herself from Tissaia, and turns her around to kiss her again. It does nothing to calm the roaring of Tissaia’s blood, especially when the hands that hold her face tenderly smell like her. She hesitates for a moment, looking over at the doors of the ball room.</p><p>“You should get back,” Yennefer whispers, breath warm against the Rectoress’ ear. Tissaia closes her eyes and nods, and the two of them look over each other to make sure nothing is out of place. Yennefer leans against the parapet and watches Tissaia push out one more invisible wrinkle from her dress.</p><p>She goes to leave, but something stops her. She turns to Yennefer and looks her over again.“Do you leave tonight?”</p><p>“Do you want me to?” Tissaia’s eyes narrow and her lips draw into a thin, pleased line. She doesn’t answer right away, but she stalks back and pulls Yennefer into one last kiss before she returns to the gala.</p><p>“If your King could spare you for the evening, I would have you catch up with them tomorrow.” Yennefer’s mouth quirks into an almost wolfish grin, and she does a half curtsy in response.</p>
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